


Sometimes a skirt is just a skirt

by Caulfrey (CremeEgg)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossdresser on top, Crossdressing, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CremeEgg/pseuds/Caulfrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire likes pissing Enjolras off by making jokes about how pretty he is. When as a forfeit Enjolras has to wear a skirt, Grantaire thinks he's died and gone to joke-heaven, until Enjolras fucks him up against the wall still wearing the skirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes a skirt is just a skirt

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11823.html?thread=3198255#t3198255

The thing is about Enjolras is that he pulls it off. He's made no effort whatsoever to do anything other than the bare minimum- he's put on a skirt and a shirt, and he's wearing sandals that could be male or female, but he is magnificently and unconsciously unaware of exactly what he looks like. Which Grantaire has to admit, a little disapprovingly to himself, is just not very feminine. It'd been a tease at first. See how many times he could make Enjolras snap at him, because any attention was good attention in Grantaire's book. He had to play it right though, catch Enjolras at exactly the right moment to really bug him on the issue. Most of the time he shrugged off the idea that he looked feminine ( _are you suggesting Grantaire_ , he says more than once, raising perfect eyebrows,  _that the female members of our party aren't entitled to be here?_ ) bore patiently with the idea that the way he looked meant that he must be gay- a common assumption in the student-run paper that liked to do interviews with him, and merely looked long suffering at the idea that anybody knew anything about him other than what he liked to broadcast in exceptional depth- namely his endless and eternal ideas on how best to fix the world.  
  
  
But sometimes if Grantaire caught him before the first coffee, or exceedingly cranky after a long lecture where student discussion had been politely evaded by whichever past radical, now financially secure conservative professor they'd brought in that week, then he could get right under his skin. Comments about how much money he must save in not needing to shave, how beautiful he was when the sun hit his cheekbones just right, or the suggestion that he was in a cranky mood because of PMS could drive him up the wall. Not that he exploded with fury anymore after apparently having it brought to his attention that Grantaire  _liked_  that, but he could see the gritted teeth, and the tempting flush, and God it was good knowing that Enjolras couldn't just ignore him.  
  
  
So when the chance came to aggravate Enjolras even more, Grantaire took full advantage of it. It was a simple enough matter after all- he didn't have a chance of beating Enjolras at poker, but Combeferre  _did,_  and he owed Grantaire a fairly extraordinary favour after certain services that had been rendered. So when the forfeits came out, the idea of Enjolras crossdressing for a day was floated, and in the presence of Eponine who had more than once experimented herself, and Cosette who saw nothing wrong with being both exceedingly feminine and a determined revolutionary, Enjolras could not protest. He gambled, and he lost, and Grantaire was halfway to being mad from the sheer and utter delight that this priceless opportunity would afford him. He had never had a windfall like this before. Pictures, jokes, a full day in which to infuriate Enjolras enough that eventually the poor bastard would have to yield to Grantaire's dubious charms, just to get the mocking to stop.   
  
  
Jehan who'd been privy to most of this gloating, rolled his eyes. "If you stopped annoying him, you might have a better chance of  _sleeping_  with him," he pointed out, but really details, details. Grantaire had never let an end goal get in the way of having fun in the moment, and while it would be an excellent bonus if he did actually end up sleeping with Enjolras, either way the day was going to be great fun.   
  
  
Or so he'd thought. Enjolras was so supremely unbothered by the novelty of wearing a skirt, that half the fun of mocking him was instantly lost, when it seemed that Enjolras actually took time to remember what Grantaire was mocking him for, and then looked rather secretly pitying that Grantaire could be so narrow-minded. Naturally that sort of reaction called for escalation. If in his heart-of-hearts Grantaire hadn't been fairly convinced that Enjolras fancied him at least a little bit, he'd probably have cooled it off, but the fact that they'd shared several drunken moments at various times over the last few months had convinced him that Enjolras wasn't that bothered by it. So every joke came out to play, even if several of them fell rather flat due to the fact that Enjolras just didn't look that good in a skirt.

 

Sure it brought out his long legs, but they were Grantaire had to admit, rather masculine legs both in terms of shape and hairiness. Similarly with his feet- it was clear they were well-shaped feet but they were also  _big_ feet, (though that did give him hope in other areas.) Grantaire wasn't going to let facts get in the way of a good joke though, so the laughs continued on through the day, and into the evening. Grantaire was getting ready for a good night's drink, but hadn't had the opportunity for more than a beer, before the urge to give into his clearly hilarious inner monologue continued. "Enjolras," he called across the bar, to where the other man seemed to be having an earnest discussion with Feuilly. "I can see your arse." In retrospect it wasn't the wittiest thing he'd ever said, but it served it's purpose better than he could ever have imagined.  
  
  
Enjolras stormed over and hauled him out of the chair with surprising ease, his fingers folding into Grantaire's collar and  _yanking,_  and Jesus it looked like Enjolras's lectures about healthy minds in healthy bodies was paying off. He looked up into eyes that were a combination of furious and completely resolved. Not even bothering to be quiet, Enjolras said "if you're so desperate to be fucked by a girl Grantaire, then let me oblige." And without another word, he strode out of the bar. Grantaire was shocked to stillness, and then when realisation caught up, he almost fell over his own feet in following.   
  
  
Every one of his imaginings had always stopped somewhere between the moment when Enjolras said 'I love you,' or with Enjolras sucking his cock, usually because Grantaire had come by that point, so he didn't really have a point of reference for any of this. Certainly not for Enjolras getting him into his room and throwing him up against the door, and kissing the daylights out of him. When he'd thought about this, he'd thought about tiny chaste kisses, coaxing Enjolras's mouth open with his own, making it so good for him, not this, not Enjolras holding him against the door with one hand curling round his shoulder almost painfully tight, and pushing into his mouth demandingly, offering and taking no quarter, kisses that bruised his lips and made him surge up for  _more_  because this was better than anything he'd ever thought that he could want, and it's _Enjolras_  pressed up against him, taking what he wants, as he wants it, and when Grantaire dares to use his hands, they slide downwards and encounter that ridiculous skirt and he doesn't even know why it makes him harder.  
  
  
Enjolras twists away, looks at him, eyes blazing and mouth so wet that Grantaire just wants it back on him now. "Stay," he says, and it's a command as much as anything he ever says is. Grantaire is perfectly happy to stay where he's been put, watches Enjolras rummage in a drawer and come out with a tube of lube and a condom, and he feels himself weaken at the knees. When Enjolras returns, he looks Grantaire straight in the eye. "Are you good?" and there's a world of questions in there- is Grantaire drunk, is Grantaire happy to do this, and this at least is what Grantaire had expected, and all he can do is nod helplessly, and hope that it's clear just how good he is with this. When Enjolras tells him to turn he does, kicks down his jeans awkwardly, fumbles off his boxers, spreads his hands against the wall and braces tight, feels Enjolras thrust a knee between his legs to jam them further apart, and Jesus his cock is harder than he could believe, and he can't wait for Enjolras to get to the main event. Fuck foreplay, he decides, he wants this, and Enjolras is going to provide.  
  
  
He lets out a ragged moan when Enjolras presses in, not gentle, not harsh, just firm and unyielding, like he expects Grantaire to take it easy, open up around him, and Christ he does, buries his face against the coolness of the wall, as wet fingers across exposed skin, and he can't help it, he sways back for more, feels his face flush, like every drop of blood hasn't gone straight to his dick, but Enjolras doesn't say anything, doesn't laugh at how badly Grantaire wants him, just rests his head against his shoulder and gives him a second finger and moves against the base of his dick with his other hand, rubbing between his thighs, and Grantaire feels like he's burning up, had never imagined wanting this so much. He brings his hands in, interlaces them on the wall and braces his forehead against them, lets Enjolras fuck him like this, fingers pressing in deep, then rubbing slowly and relentlessly against the sensitive area between his dick and his entrance, until Grantaire groans against his hands, bites in deep to stop himself, and Enjolras takes pity, slides them back in, charring him from the inside, til all he can think about is how this feels, his world narrowing down to just this.   
  
  
When Enjolras asks him if he needs more, he can't even speak, not properly, can just gasp and widen his legs that impossible half inch more, and thank fucking God Enjolras takes that exactly as it's meant, and like he thinks Grantaire needs it, he leans in so close, presses himself- rough scratchy skirt, hard dick and all against the backs of his thighs, provokes a dragging itch inside and out that Grantaire needs to be scratched, and whispers into his ear. "I'm going to fuck you now," and it hits harder than the filthiest of dirty talk could, because it's Enjolras saying it, the voice of a thousand protests, the man who would be king and he's aiming it solely towards Grantaire, and he doesn't blame himself for melting.   
  
  
He doesn't know when Enjolras put the condom on but he can feel it, the slick slide of Enjolras's dick pressing up against him, and he shifts for a better angle, can't bring himself to feel embarrassed by how patently he needs this, and Enjolras gets him on the first thrust, and it might feel like it's tearing him apart- too roughly prepped, too fast but Grantaire wouldn't miss a single moment of it, of how he stretches around Enjolras, lets him in, and he's grateful that he has his mouth pressed against his hands otherwise he'd be babbling into the still air of the room just how much he wants it. He loses track of how long it takes for Enjolras to bottom out, isn't sure if Enjolras is taking it slow because he doesn't want to rush him, or if he just likes the idea of Grantaire so desperate for his dick he's begging, and that idea makes something sharp and hot and molten pool in his chest, burn through his lungs, and then Enjolras is fully in, and Grantaire can feel the scratchiness of the skirt against his skin, bunched up around Enjolras's waist and he fucking loses it, almost overbalances in his haste to get a hand around his dick.  
  
  
Then Enjolras's hand is on his, forcing it back up to the wall, and he's fucking him properly now- still leisurely, as though they have all the time in the world, but deep and perfect, and Grantaire can feel himself leaking, wet from pre-come and he doesn't know how he's stayed hard through this all, but is barely surprised because this is up there with the best sex he's ever had. When Enjolras takes him in hand, his grip firm and authoritative, Grantaire can hardly process it, doesn't know what he wants more, that slow inevitable push within him, or the hand on his dick milking him dry, and when Enjolras gives him both, his vision almost goes black, and he has to suck in air desperately- because at some point he thinks he gave breathing up for Lent.  
  
  
He doesn't know when he starts coming, but it quakes through him, building momentum in no way he's ever felt before, and when he comes, it's desperate, all over Enjolras's hand, shaking his way through it, like he's emptying himself completely. He sags down, weak kneed, feels Enjolras continue for a bit, until he finally spends deep within him, presses in and bites down, and that shouldn't send another thrill through him but it does. He feels empty, washed out and weak, and it's a struggle to get to the bed before he collapses. "Convinced?" Enjolras asks, and Grantaire remembers what started this.  
  
  
"You've been hanging around the right sort of girls," he says and falls asleep.


End file.
